


your love is three times better

by sarcasticfishes



Series: look how they align [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Exhibitionism, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: >Are you guys sure you want me around tomorrow night?he asks, lying on his back under the covers of his bed, phone held to his chest and breathing slowly until he feels the vibration of Shane’s reply just minutes later.>Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we?Ryan grimaces as he types out the words, >It’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you want to do romance stuff?--5 times Ryan was a voyeur, and 1 time he wasn't.





	your love is three times better

**Author's Note:**

> a more accurate yet long-winded title is probably, _5 times Ryan thought he was accidentally a voyeur, and then 1 time that Shane and Sara actually got their shit together and talked to him about it._
> 
> this is all fiction.

### 1.

It’s early Sunday morning as Ryan is letting himself into Shane and Sara’s apartment.

He’s still getting used to the fact that he’s been _given_ a key, and the fact that Shane holds that much trust in him. It still feels a little heavier in his pocket than just his regular house and car keys. Sara had presented it to him at his desk with a bright smile, a small silver key with an orange bb-8 key cover, and watched eagerly as he fumbled it onto his keychain —blushing furiously all the while. Shane, sprawling in his roller chair next to them, hadn’t said a word during the whole presentation, but had smiled so warmly that Ryan felt it in his toes.

“Because, you know. You come over all the time anyway, and we like it that way.”

It took him a while to stop knocking on the door first, and even longer to stop feeling like part of a 90s sitcom as he rolled unannounced into his friends’ apartment on the daily.

Stepping into the entryway on this seemingly regular morning, Ryan is greeted by the rolling meow of a ginger cat, Obi swirling around his ankles. Ryan latches the door as softly as possible and makes a face at the kitty. He’d already taken a Benadryl in advance, but still doesn’t want Obi getting too close while he’s carrying food.

“You don’t love me, you just want my bacon,” Ryan whispers, gently nudging Obi away with his foot. The apartment is quiet, and Obi follows Ryan to the kitchen where he sets down his paper bag of groceries, something to make a nice breakfast for his pals with. Sara had helped him a lot that week with some art direction, and he’d been thinking of ways to make it up to her ever since.

He’s standing at the countertop when he hears it. Ryan’s an adult, he knows what fucking sounds like, and he knows what Sunday morning fucking sounds like. The soft, breathy moans and giggles and sighs. At the end of the hallway, the door to the main bedroom is open just a crack, far enough away that Ryan supposes neither of his friends heard him come in. He hadn’t exactly been quiet, but he hadn’t stomped in shouting for attention either.

For a moment, Ryan considers just leaving again. He considers going home, eating his bacon alone, and just buying Sara lunch on Monday. There’s a prickling sensation at the back of his neck; not embarrassment, but more like the feeling of intruding on something, the thrill of trespassing.

Shane’s voice at the end of the hall says “ _God,_ ” so breathlessly, so crisp and clear in the silence that Ryan almost trips over himself tuning heel, shuffling back towards the kitchen. He puts his earbuds in and starts cooking as quietly as possible, frying at low heat to prolong the process as much as he can while he zones the fuck out.

It’s an indeterminable amount of time later that he feels a hand on his shoulder and tries not to jump out of his skin when he looks up into Shane’s smiling face. He’s towering over Ryan in a soft, worn tee and sweatpants, his hair rumpled and a little greasy (or sweaty, maybe?), his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Shane’s mouth is moving, and Ryan pulls the buds out.

“It’s just me, hey,” Shane laughs. His eyes are bright, cheeks pink. Even if Ryan didn’t already know— he looks _pleased_. “You’re cooking?”

“Yeah, uh,” Ryan clears his throat and pushes his own glasses up from where they slipped down his nose. “Sara really helped me out this week so I thought I’d do something nice for her. For you both, I guess. She up yet?”

_Smooth._

“Yeah, she’s in the shower,” Shane clears his throat and sits down at the table. He props his chin up in the palm of his hand and watches Ryan turn bacon, eyes narrowed, and for thirty seconds straight Ryan’s entire thought process is _fuck, he knows, fuck, he knows_.

Until Shane says, “Are you wearing my sweatshirt? I've been looking for that,” with a grin spreading on his pert little mouth. Ryan laughs and hopes it doesn’t sound like relief.

 

### 2.

In late November, Ryan’s housemates arrange a birthday party for him, and it’s fucking lit. Lights strung up down the garden and coolers as far as the eye can see, most of the partying restricted to the kitchen, living room, and patio area.

The door to Ryan’s bedroom is ajar, however, despite the huge _Private_ sign he had taped above the doorknob. The lights aren’t on inside as far as he can tell, but poking his head through he can see the sliver of light slipping out from his en-suite bathroom, striping the floor at the end of his bed.

Ryan pads across the floor in his bare feet, his flip-flops lost during a hectic dance party in the garden, and he reaches for the doorknob… hesitating at the last second. He’s not sure why. It’s his bathroom, and he probably left the light on accidentally after his shower earlier. He should just walk in there and turn it off and go back to the party. But something makes him stop, and look first.

He peers in the cracked door into his own bathroom, like the tipsy idiot he is, and feels every muscle in his body seize.

Sara’s sitting up on his sink, lounging back against the counter with her striped skater dress flipped up towards her stomach, one of her legs propped up against the side of Ryan’s shower tub. Her tights are viciously ripped up the center and Shane’s kneeling between her legs, his face buried between her thighs as she holds his head in her hands, fingers threaded into his hair.

Holding his breath, Ryan can hear his own heartbeat and, just above that, the soft keening panting noise Sara is making as Shane’s eating her out. And Ryan’s looking. He’s _really_ looking, with a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe.

Shane is single-minded in his task, his arms wrapped underneath Sara’s thighs and holding them, spreading her wide to fit his shoulders between her knees. He’s not just using his mouth, but ducking down to fuck her with his tongue, nuzzling against her clit with his nose, and she gasps when he does it, pressing up against his face while pushing him down harder. He’s looking up at her, eyes wide and dark when she shudders, and Ryan can see the way his fingers press into her thighs, the flesh soft and forgiving under the sheer nylon of her tights.

Ryan’s still looking, can’t look away when Sara slouches over the sink, her back arching and her knees lifting almost like she’s trying to get away, like it's almost too much. Shane holds her tight and the foot she had against the tub presses to his shoulder — not to push him away but more like she’s trying to touch him in any way she can without letting go of his hair. Ryan’s thinking, _so Shane gives really good head_ , right as Sara finally has to take one of her hands off of Shane and cover her mouth, muffling a cry. He sees her toes curl against the fabric of Shane’s shirt, looks at Shane’s mouth on her, her stomach bared and clenching when he sucks or rubs her just right.

“ _Fuck_ , Shane,” She says, in a tone that Ryan could only describe as a whimper, and he thinks Shane’s eyes are fucking shining, like he loves this.

And then Sara looks up and— and meets Ryan’s gaze through the scant inch of open door. Just as quickly, she looks away and back down at Shane; it’s been all of twenty seconds since he first laid eyes on them and Ryan hasn’t taken a single breath.

He backs away from the door, as silently as possible, his heart hammering as he presses himself against the wall next to the door like a goddamn cliche, like the peeping tom he is. Now, all his senses heightened with his arousal, he can hear the soft-slick noises of Shane’s mouth as he gives. Sara is still panting softly and hasn’t stopped or reacted to being caught with her, uh, stockings down.

_Did he imagine it?_

He was so _sure_ she saw him.

Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a slow breath, quiet as he possibly can. He should leave. He’s hard as fuck in his shorts and he should walk right out of his room and maybe go dunk his head in the beer cooler out back.

Sara says, “Don’t stop, Shane, _fuck_ —” loudly on the other side of the wall and Ryan palms his dick through the denim of his shorts. He’s holding his breath again when he looks back in through the door left ajar. Sara’s gripping the edge of the countertop with her free hand, the other fisted in Shane’s hair. Ryan can’t quite see from this angle, but it looks like Shane’s given her two, maybe three of his fingers to come around, his lips and tongue focussed solely on her clit now as she rolls her hips up towards his face.

Ryan knows she’s coming when she stops making noises altogether, going still and taut, her stomach flexing and fluttering while Shane keeps licking her, groaning when she pulls his hair a little too sharply. Sara pushes him away when he’s too much, but he doesn’t pull his fingers out yet, just toying with her while she comes down.

“That’s it baby, there you go,” he says, and it’s filthy, but it’s _fond_. Ryan’s stomach twists, because while he knows he shouldn’t have been watching in the first place, somehow seeing _this_ , hearing Shane’s voice raw and gravelly and sweet, this feels like something even more intimate. Something he _really_ shouldn’t see.

Ryan steps away, his heart pounding as he silently walks out of his bedroom and onto the landing. His legs take him down the stairs, and he remembers at the last minute to accommodate his dick, tucking it in the waistband of his shorts and adjusting his shirt over it.

Steven appears next to him when he gets to the kitchen and hands him a shot, which Ryan downs wordlessly while beckoning for another as he follows the party back into the garden.

Ten minutes later Shane reappears, head and shoulders above most others at the party, Sara at his side with her arm looped through his; she’s bare-legged and pink-cheeked and her curls are already falling out of her half-up hairstyle. Shane settles into the Adirondack next to Ryan’s, and Sara drifts into the crowd, brushing an affectionate hand over Shane’s bearded cheek as she passes. Shane stretches his jaw, and it cracks loudly, and Ryan almost fumbles his beer onto the patio tile.

“Okay there, Ry-Guy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The irony isn’t lost on Ryan, and he reaches over to flick the side of Shane’s gigantic head.

“Tequila was a bad idea,” Ryan bluffs, by way of answering, and Shane smiles at him, his mouth soft and red, eyes still dark and glistening in the evening light. He looks fresh and glowing, and Ryan wishes he didn’t know why, wishes he didn’t wonder what happened after he’d come downstairs.

Shane licks his lips. “Tequila’s always a bad idea. Let’s get you another?”

At the end of the night, Ryan stumbles into his bathroom and stares at the sink for far too long, before noticing Sara’s ruined tights tossed in his bathtub. He first resists the urge to touch them, and then the urge to go downstairs and find wherever his friends had passed out and— well, he doesn’t know what he’d do after that.

He’s too drunk to jerk off, he just collapses on his bed and falls asleep on his belly, missing the warmth of someone beneath him. Or maybe above him. He’s not really sure what it is that he wants.

 

### 3.

Ryan spends New Year with his parents. It’s a quiet night, but that’s what he’d been hoping for. He’s staying in his old bedroom, with old basketball trophies from high school, photos of some friends he barely speaks to anymore apart from Tucker, button-ups hanging in the closet that are just a little too tight in the arms now.

At 10pm he gets a _Happy New Year!!_ text from Shane, who’s been in Illinois with his family and Sara since Christmas eve. Ryan’s been feeding Obi while they’re gone, but the apartment feels empty and sad so he doesn’t linger much longer than to play with Obi for a bit, send a snap to Sara, and water any plants that need it.

Earlier that night, Shane had posted an insta story of the two of them, dressed up and looking cute, and Ryan had screenshot it without even thinking about it. Shane in a dark green and gold floral print and some _really_ nice slim-fitting slacks, Sara’s little black dress with the gold accents that compliment his shirt. Both of them gorgeous in a way that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He waits until midnight in California to text back, _Happy New Year you guys :)_ , and then doesn’t tack on the ‘i miss you’ that his fingers itch to type.

And then his phone rings, Shane’s name and photo ID flashing up on the screen, and Ryan ducks out of the family room and sits down on the stairs to take the call.

“Hey man, you’re up late,” he says — not all that surprised that Shane was still awake at 2am, actually.

There’s no answer on Shane’s end, just rustling. A lot of rustling. A giggle. _Thump_.

“...Hello?” Ryan asks, quieter this time. There’s more rustling, and then a metallic sound like, like, a belt buckle maybe. Followed by a zipper.

Sara’s voice, muffled, says, “Why are you in such a rush?” She’s laughing, her tone light and playful.

“‘M not,” Shane’s voice should be harder to catch through the muffling and rustling, but Ryan hears it clear as day anyway. “Just... Can’t decide whether I want you out of that dress or not when I fuck you.”

Ryan hits the ‘end call’ button and tosses his phone down to the carpet at his feet.

Ridiculous.

.

Ryan does not, thankfully, get shitfaced and lonely at his parents' house. He’s in bed before 1am, and waking at 8am to his phone ringing on the nightstand. Ryan answers begrudgingly, hitting speaker and laying the phone on the pillow next to him, too exhausted — physically, emotionally — to hold the phone to his ear.

“What,” he croaks, and it’s Shane on the other end, of course it is.

“Oh fuck, I forgot. It’s really early isn’t it.”

“What makes you say that,” Ryan grumbles, aiming for sarcastic but missing by maybe a mile.

Shane huffs a little on the other end, he sounds tired but warm when he says, “Because you sound… how you sound in the morning.”

Ryan clears his throat, decides not to dwell too much on the tone of Shane’s voice. The affection, the familiarity, Shane knowing what he sounds like when he’s still waking up.

“Yeah it’s early, man,” he replies, resigned. “Surprised you’re not still asleep. I’m guessing you guys had a late night.”

Ryan’s not sure why he says it. Maybe Shane didn’t even know about the accidental butt-dial.

“Yeah, I— I think I accidentally called you last night, or something. I’m sorry if I woke you. The call history said the call only lasted like, 20 seconds.”

“No, yeah,” Ryan clears his throat and turns towards the phone lying next to him. “I answered but there was nothing on your end. I figured it was an accident.”

“So you heard… nothing,” Shane sounds almost disappointed, and Ryan doesn’t want to even begin to unpack that.

“Just some… pocket noises, I guess,” he says, aiming for a laugh but coughing instead, throat raw from sleeping. “Did you guys have fun?”

_You fucking dumbass, Ryan Bergara._

“Yeah,” Shane says, brightly, “Lots. A lot of fun.”

“Huh. I’m sure,” Ryan replies, and hates that four simple words have his mind wandering. Did Sara leave her dress on like Shane had wanted? Did either of them get undressed at all, or was Shane just too eager to wait? Did he eat her out again? That seemed to be something he’d liked doing. Something. Something Ryan might like to do. Or have done to him.

“Listen,” Shane says, and Ryan startles, having forgotten the phone laying right next to him. “We’re going for breakfast now and then we’ll be packing up for our trip back. We’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon. You could come over, and we’ll watch a movie, catch up, order food. We can have drinks if you wanna stay over. Sound good?”

Ryan’s brain spirals again, mostly thinking about sleeping on Shane’s couch while he and Sara sleep just down the hall, the door cracked open an inch. It’s a lot for his delicate state of mind.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah, sorry. You said breakfast and I started thinking about food.”

Shane laughs his stupid dorky laugh, always deeper than Ryan expects it to be.

“You’ll come over?”

“Yeah, of course, man. I missed you guys.”

(It’s been a week. _Holy God_ , he misses them.)

“Yeah, us too,” Shane answers in that same fond tone as before, the way he’d said ‘ _how you sound in the morning_ ’ and _that’s it baby, there you go_ ’. And maybe Ryan should examine exactly why the sound of his best friend’s voice gets him hard like this. “See you soon, Ry.”

“Yeah,” Ryan croaks. “Soon.”

 

### [interlude]

Falling asleep on Shane’s couch becomes something of a bad habit.

It’s a _big_ couch. Long enough for even Shane to stretch out fully on, toes pointed and arms extended. It’s also stupidly comfortable, so he has to give Sara and Shane props for that. It’s comfortable enough to sleep on that Ryan stops protesting when Shane hands him a beer or three (or five) during movie nights that Ryan was supposed to drive home from. Sara curls up between them with a blanket that Ryan knows he’ll be sleeping under later, breathing their combined scents, the popcorn, Sara’s shampoo and Shane’s sweat. It’s not as disgusting as it sounds.

His housemates are starting to ask if he’s seeing someone, because he’s hardly ever home, and when he is, he’s usually packing more clothes because he can’t keep stealing Shane’s t-shirts (as much as he wants to).

He’s not sure when it became a thing. Wanting to kiss them. Not just Sara, who’s tiny and pretty and never wears a bra in the apartment, but wanting to kiss Shane too, when he slings an arm over Ryan’s shoulders, or affectionately squeezes the back of his neck when they’re standing close in the kitchen.

He’s not jealous when Sara lifts her hand to Shane’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s more of a longing feeling now, longing to be kissed so lovingly, or to do the kissing. He’s been single almost a year now, too much of a romantic for a string of one night stands and flings. He hates it, but he’s having the intrusive thought that maybe he just misses the intimacy, and that Shane and Sara’s relationship is giving him what he craves most. He hates that he thinks he might be living vicariously through their love.

On a Wednesday almost mid-February, Ryan’s poking at his lunch drowsily, struggling to keep his energy up when Sara asks:

“We’re still doing movie night tomorrow, right boys?”

The question is directed at Ryan and Shane, of course, but everyone who had joined them for lunch (Kelsey, Steven, and Andrew) falls abruptly silent.

“Gotta finish the Spider-man trilogy,” Shane says, like it’s obvious, and like he isn’t being stared at by five other people.

“I am _not_ watching Spider-man 3. Once in a lifetime was enough,” Sara responds.

“It’s a classic!” Shane protests, “Tell her, Ryan.”

Ryan grimaces. “It’s uh… It sure is a movie from 2007.”

“Traitors,” Shane shakes his head, but he’s smiling down at his sandwich. Sara downs the last of her La Croix and crumples her can.

“Gotta get back to my desk. Humpday sucks,” she says as she stands and throws her jacket back on, and stoops to kiss Shane’s cheek. Then she turns and pecks Ryan on the cheek too, and Steven is visibly trying not to laugh, squirming in his seat opposite Ryan.

The door closes behind Sara, and Steven fucking _cackles_ , sliding down in his chair.

“Oh, wow. I can’t believe she has you _both_ whipped now. Amazing. This is _amazing_.”

“Isn’t tomorrow Valentine’s Day?” Andrew asks, visibly confused. “Don’t you have plans?”

Shane looks confused too and Ryan has to pointedly look away, because he’s not sure if he can handle the answer.

Shane just bobs his head minutely and says, “Yeah man… movie night.”

Steven and Andrew stare in confusion, and Kelsey silently digs around in her salad bowl.

The conversation switches topics quickly after that, but Ryan doesn’t really zone back in on account of having been given a lot to process in the last thirty seconds. He can still feel Sara’s kiss on his cheek, can see faint chapstick print she left on Shane’s and knows that he’s matching. Shane’s leg has stretched out beneath the table and he’s toe to toe with Ryan.

When Steven and Andrew pack up to get back to work, Shane goes with them and Ryan doesn’t even notice until Kelsey has moved to sit next to him.

“You doing ok, Ryan?” She asks, tentatively. “You’ve been quiet all day, it’s not like you.”

Ryan groans, rubbing both hands over his face, “Yeah. _Yeah_ , I’m sorry Kels. I just have a lot to think about right now.”

“Can I help? You can talk about it if you want. Or if you don’t wanna we can just go play some games. Take your mind off things?”

He _wants_ to talk, is the thing. He wants to ask her, _do you think it’s possible? To be in love with more than one person at a time?_ Mostly, he kind of wants to cry. He doesn’t do any of that.

“That’s so tempting,” Ryan sighs out, watching Kelsey start to grin. They’ve been trying to film some casual gaming videos together, trying to hang out more in general. “But I have to get back to writing my script.”

Kelsey’s grin settles into something a little more demure, and she gently reaches over and squeezes his forearm.

“Alright. You know where I am.”

.

It’s nearly 1am when he finally gets up the courage to text Shane.

 _ >Are you guys sure you want me around tomorrow night? _ he asks, lying on his back under the covers of his bed, phone held to his chest and breathing slowly until he feels the vibration of Shane’s reply just minutes later.

_ >Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we? _

Ryan grimaces as he types out the words, > _It’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you want to do romance stuff?_

It takes Shane much longer to reply this time, and Ryan starts to wonder if Shane’s fallen asleep, leaving him to toil in his thoughts all night. Then comes the buzz of another reply, and Ryan releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. He relaxes his jaw, realizing his teeth were clenched.

_ >We do romance stuff all the time, not just one day of the year, Ry ;) _

The winky face makes Ryan wheeze silently, turning his face into his arm for a moment, hiding from nobody.

 _I was just worried you or Sara had made a mistake and forgot what day it was—_ he typed out, then deleted it. _I don’t want to get in the way._ He deletes that too. _The thought of spending Valentine’s with you two excites me in a way that scares me._ Delete. _I don’t want to sleep on your couch tomorrow._ At this point, the typing is just cathartic. He types and deletes several more increasingly pathetic texts, eventually setting on the most neutral thing he can think of when his heart is beating so fast.

_ >If you’re sure. _

Shane replies, > _Sure as sugar, babeyyyy,_ and Ryan just knows he’s half asleep, squinting at his phone through the darkness without his glasses or contacts. He’s glad Shane doesn’t call him out on the fact that it took him eight minutes to type three words.

Ryan just replies with the candy emoji, _sweet_ , and locks his phone, setting it on his side table. He’s not going to be able to sleep any time soon, but he does feel just a mite more reassured than before.

 

### 4.

V-Day goes by as it always does. There’s a lot of cake in the office, people making terrible jokes, others wearing terrible costumes. Ryan has confetti in his hair before lunchtime, and six ‘anonymous’ cards and love letters beginning to stack up on his desk. He recognizes the handwriting on each one, and he really, really loves all of his friends. The seventh letter is lovingly illustrated and proudly signed by Shane. It’s a heart-shaped ghost in red ink on a pink post-it, and Ryan sticks it to the side of his monitor without really thinking about it.

Shane gets caught up in filming something close to the end of the day, leaving Sara to head back to their apartment in Ryan’s car. It’s rare enough for them to be alone like this, but Ryan finds he enjoys Sara’s soft humming in the passenger seat, and the calm energy she radiates. They stop halfway through the journey to get a couple of bottles of wine, and the cashier wishes them a happy Valentine’s night with an exaggerated wink. Neither of them correct him, and Ryan’s palms tingle with the urge to reach for Sara’s hand when they walk back to the car together. He’s sure she wouldn’t mind, sure that even if Shane was there that he wouldn’t blink an eye. Still, Ryan keeps his hands to himself, barely restrains himself from running around to open Sara’s door for her when she’s climbing back into her seat, cradling the paper-bagged wine bottles in her arms as she does.

Obi greets them at the door of the apartment, yelling for his dinner. Sara sets the bottles down on the coffee table and walks straight into the bedroom while Ryan feeds the cat. She likes to change into yoga pants as soon as she gets home, and when she appears again she’s wearing a big t-shirt that might be Shane’s — might even be Ryan’s, he doesn’t know anymore — and she hops up on the counter next to where Ryan’s leaning, scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“What do you wanna watch? Should we go cheesy and watch something romantic for the sake of it, or do you really want to watch Spider-man 3?”

Ryan laughs, and opens the camera in-app, taking a high-angle boomerang of the two of them; Sara with her legs folded sitting atop the counter, Ryan leaning close, and both of them pulling faces. Sara takes the phone from him to add some stickers and Ryan starts to rifle through the cabinet for the popcorn.

“Shane said if he’s not home by 8, which he will try to be, we should order pizza without him,” Sara says, still looking down at Ryan’s phone, thumbing through his feed. He doesn’t mind letting her mess around on his phone, which probably says more than he really wants to think about.

Ryan scoffs, “Yeah, that’s what he _says_. But you know if we do, he’s gonna be grumpy.”

“Well, I’m _sure_ we can make it up to him somehow,” Sara says, offhandedly, and Ryan nearly closes the cabinet on his own hand. He’s absolutely sure her mind is not in the same place as his in that very moment, right up until he looks over, sees her smirking down at his phone. He gulps. Fucking _gulps_.

“Like… like extra toppings?” He croaks out, and Sara looks up at him, grinning widely, her sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners. She hops down off the counter and tucks Ryan’s phone back into the front pocket of his jeans.

And from there on, the night passes rather ordinarily. Shane miraculously gets home before 8pm, because Ryan doesn’t know what would have happened otherwise. They curl up together on the couch, Sara squirreled away between Shane and Ryan because she apparently loves suffering and suffocating, Ryan thinks. They watch the latest Netflix rom-com, during which Shane provides a running commentary; Sara pushes her feet into Ryan’s lap, and he digs his thumb into the arch of her sole, fingers wrapped around her ankle.

They drink a lot of wine. There’s a popcorn fight. Sara crawls out of their nest to find Obi, and Shane edges closer to Ryan, pulling him in for a cuddle, three glasses of wine deep. Sara returns with Obi, and flanks Ryan’s other side. Ryan dozes while Shane’s arm rests across his shoulders, his fingers toying with a loose curl of Sara’s hair near Ryan’s neck.

And then Ryan lies awake on the couch, tipsy, and listens to his best friends fooling around in the next room. Their playful giggling turns breathless. Their bed — which Ryan knows for a fact is an extra long King just to accommodate Shane — doesn’t _creak_ , but he can still hear it. That clichéd rhythmic thump, so steady that Ryan starts to sweat, thinking about Shane keeping up that kind of pace, having that kind of stamina.

Ryan’s had enough wine that he’s not putting in his earphones, not even trying to pretend he isn’t listening to the way Sara gasps, the way Shane breathes out a little _huh_ , like it’s being punched out of him with every thrust.

They couldn’t have forgotten he was there, surely? It almost hurts, to think about. They were so tender with him, and for a solid thirty seconds, Ryan lets himself remember being tucked beneath Shane’s arm, Sara’s head on his shoulder, Shane’s hand moving away from Sara’s hair to scratch at the nape of Ryan’s neck.

Ryan’s slept on this couch more times than he can count, but he’s never gotten himself off on it. He thinks about it. He listens to Shane moan suddenly, wonders what’s happening, why he’s making sounds like that, why Sara’s laughing through her sighs, her choked-off _yeses_ and _gods_. Ryan’s so fucking hard, still in his jeans because he hasn’t brought a change of clothes to the apartment in as long as he can remember, because he knows he’ll find _something_ in Shane’s closet. He knows it wouldn’t take much for him to get off now, pleasantly wine buzzed, listening to his friends fucking, thinking not for the first time what it’d be like to walk through that door, strip his shirt off, climb onto the bed and—

Would Shane fuck him? Would he _ask_ Shane to fuck him? Would Sara ask Ryan to fuck _her_? Would Ryan let himself be pushed a molded any way Sara or Shane wanted him?

Ryan fishes his phone out of his pocket and swipes to unlock it, with no other intention than finding a distraction. Immediately, the screen opens up on his Instagram app, right where Sara had left it when she tucked it into his pocket.

His message thread with Shane is left open, and there are new messages Ryan hadn’t written.

 _ >Cute_, Shane had replied to Ryan’s story, the one of him and Sara in the kitchen. Sara had replied with a low angle selfie of her smirking, and over her shoulder Ryan is searching through the cabinet. Ryan’s not a fan of low-angle selfies really, but this one shows off Sara’s neck, jaw, and collarbone, and Ryan’s own biceps behind her. Ryan likes his own body now, isn’t afraid to show it off or admit that he looks good. With the evening light coming through the windows, setting them both aglow, Sara had somehow managed to capture a renaissance painting in a matter of a split second.

 _ >Someone’s gonna get wrecked toniiiiight _Ryan reads, Shane’s icon next to the text bubble.

 _ >This is Ryan’s account, _ Sara had replied.  
> _You’re so rude_.  
> _If you’re going to cringe-sext me do it on my own account u big dumb_

_ >Hey Ryan. I’m going to get absolutely railed tonight. _

Ryan fumbles the phone a little, his hands shaking hard with nerves and excitement and arousal. Sara’s next picture is a blurry Ryan, moments after almost trapping his hand in the cabinet. There’s no response.

In the bedroom, Sara’s gotten loud again, the way she did in Ryan’s bathroom, with Shane eating her out on the counter. Ryan thinks about it often, wonders if she left her stockings behind on purpose, wonders if Shane had got off too, after Ryan had shamefully slunk back to the party.

He locks his phone again and holds it to his chest, closing his eyes, holding very still and knowing that if he moved even an inch right now, he’d want to touch himself. Sometimes when he’s reviewing evidence from an investigation, he closes his eyes to hear the creaks and groans better. It’s all he can hear now, less than twenty feet away. There’s nothing he wants more in the world.

.

Ryan drives the three of them to work the next morning, Shane hunched up in the passenger seat and Sara stretched out in the back. They go through the drive-thru for coffee, because wine headaches are the worst, and Ryan orders everyone’s drinks without a second thought.

“I love that you know our favorite orders,” Sara says when Ryan passes her latte back to her. He catches Shane smiling fondly in his peripheral, and hates that he cannot physically fight the way he blushes at the praise.

 

### 5.

Ryan is now pretty sure that everything... is happening on purpose.

Maybe at first it had been an accident, arriving too early on a Sunday morning, trespassing on an illicit bathroom rendezvous, butt-dialing your best friend when things are getting hot and heavy. Those are accidental things that happen, right?

After Valentine’s Day, well, they _can’t_ be just accidents anymore. You’d think that nearly four years into a relationship, two people would have learned how to keep their hands off of one another in public, save it for appropriate times and/or places, right? But Shane and Sara seem to have hit the incline on the second hill of the rollercoaster, so to speak. Like a second honeymoon.

One particularly memorable occasion, Ryan had offered to drive Shane and Sara home after an office party. He had an early start the next morning, couldn’t risk the temptation of a beer or five with his friends, and so offered to be the designated driver. Sara had rolled into Ryan’s back seat when the time came to depart, dragging Shane with her, and Ryan had driven the whole ten minutes to their complex, desperately ignoring the wet, soft, rasping noises of kissing and heavy petting in his back seat. He may have braked too hard in front of their apartment complex, causing Shane to topple forward into the backseat footwell with a loud _thump_ and _ow_.

“Should be wearing your belt, man,” Ryan had said, clipped, meeting Shane’s eye in the rearview as he straightened up. Shane’s mouth had been bright red, Sara’s lipstick on his cheek and jaw.

“Must have slithered out of it,” Shane had replied, and Sara had climbed over him to get out on the curb. Shane leaned forward between the front seats of Ryan’s car, laying a heavy hand on Ryan’s bicep, squeezing gently. “Thank you for this. You’re a good friend. The _best_ friend.”

“You’re so fucken’ drunk,” Ryan sighed, fighting a smile that threatened to bloom, as Shane butted his forehead against Ryan’s shoulder like an affectionate cat. Then Shane was climbing out of the back of the car and joining Sara on the sidewalk, stooping down to wrap a long arm around her waist.

Ryan had watched the two of them walk to the door of the complex, watched Sara drop the keys, heard Shane laughing, saw him pressing her up against the door and kissing her for a good long thirty seconds before they remembered what it was they were supposed to be doing. Once they finally got inside, and Ryan was sure they were safe, he drove away.

Now, when he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure all they ever wanted from him was a threesome. He can’t give them that, he knows he’ll only ever want more than what they can give in return. He feels stupid for not just falling for one, but _two_ of his best friends, the two who just so happen to be in a monogamous relationship with one another. Classic Bergara.

.

The Unsolved crew starts filming some new Supernatural in late March for a season that won’t air until at least September. The resort they’re investigating is so old and elite that it only opens for holiday goers for two months during the Summer, and for the rest of the year the place is swarmed by paranormal investigators. It’s typical that freezing March in Vermont is the only free spot Ryan could manage to swindle. The cottage he and Shane are spending the night in is tight and cozy, more like a small hotel suite than an actual home. There’s a bathroom, a tiny kitchenette/living space, and of course a double bed.

Ryan eyes the loveseat while they’re getting ready to settle down for the night but two things bother him far more than the concept of sharing a bed with Shane. 1) The loveseat is far too short to lay down on comfortably, and 2) the brutal murder that happened on/around it.

He starts to construct his usual pillow wall down the center of the bed while Shane gets changed in the bathroom, only pausing when he hears Shane start to speak.

He’s only slightly muffled through the door latched shut between them, the door itself seems to be constructed of light plywood; the original one had been destroyed with an axe.

Ryan doesn’t mean to eavesdrop — he just has poor self-control.

“Hey, yeah we’re just gonna bunk down for the night now,” Shane’s voice is warm, and there’s no one else he calls right before bed except Sara. “The cottage is alright. It’s nice to not sleep on a dusty floor every time we do this.”

The water runs, and Ryan can hear Shane rattling around in his toiletry bag. When he speaks again, it’s even more distorted, like Shane’s brushing his teeth maybe.

“One bed, but I’m sure Ryan’s already building his special wall.”

Ryan glares down at his half-constructed pillow wall.

“I know. But it makes him feel better I guess. He cuddles right into it when he finally manages to fall asleep.”

Shane’s chuckling softly into his phone, and then spitting into the sink. When he speaks again, it’s on the tail of a heavy sigh.

“I don’t think he’d want that, Sara.” Shane says, and just the tone of his voice makes Ryan’s chest feel tight. “ _Because_. We tried to— you remember what happened. He didn’t— It made him uncomfortable.”

Shane starts to lower his voice, and Ryan automatically takes a step closer to the bathroom door. God, he’s always been so fucking nosy. He really can’t resist. And if they’re talking about _him_ , well, then… he should _know_ , right?

“ _...we talked about this…_ ” Shane’s voice drifts in and out. “... _made a mistake … bad approach—_ ”

Ryan sits at the side of the bed closest to the door, holding one of his extra pillows to his chest, like it might soften the blows. He feels a little like he’s being punched from the inside.

“Of course I still want— _fuck_ ,” Shane swears loudly, and Ryan startles. Against his better judgement, Ryan shouts:

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Shane replies, brightly, a little too loud, “Dropped my toothbrush on the gross floor,”

It’s a lie, but Ryan doesn’t call him out on it, there was no sound to indicate anything had been dropped. He hugs the pillow to him a little tighter, and lays back on the bed, eyes closed. With the lights on, doors locked, the cottage isn’t so scary.

“I think we royally fucked up, of course I’m frustrated,” Shane says, and then quickly follows with, “No, _no,_ I am not stressed because of ghosts, ghosts aren’t even real, _Sara_.”

Ryan laughs softly to himself, lets himself drift as Shane finishes up his nightly routine, chattering contentedly on the phone, and Ryan filters it to ‘background noise’ rather than ‘intended listening’.

He must have dozed off, because he startles when Shane sits down next to him and leans back on his elbow. He’s wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, glasses perched on his nose and the faint smell of mint rising off him. Shane looks down, eyebrows raised at Ryan clutching his pillow.

“Taking a lil nap there? Conserving your energy before you spend the whole night keeping me up?”

Ryan’s brain cycles through several different meanings for what Shane is saying before he processes the actual, very innocent, meaning.

“Sorry, I was just having a moment,” he replies, pushing himself into a sitting position, pulling down his t-shirt where it had ridden up his stomach. He doesn’t miss the way Shane’s eyes linger in a way they wouldn’t if the cameras were on.

“You okay?” Shane echoes Ryan’s earlier question, and Ryan nods, not sure if he’s being truthful or not.

“Just overthinking, the usual.”

Shane hums in agreement, looking down and away and instead looking at Ryan’s little pillow wall, picking at a thread on the edge of one of the cushions.

Ryan takes a little bit of a leap.

“I… I don’t know why I did that. Put those there,” he said, pointing to the center of the bed. “It was like autopilot. You can move them if you want, I know you don’t have enough space in a bed that size even without me and a mountain of pillows.”

Shane’s smiling as he shakes his head minutely. “It’s okay, Ryan. I know it makes you more comfortable.”

Ryan huffs out a laugh, and then clears his throat at Shane’s confused look.

“It’s—you _know_ I’m a cuddler.” Ryan says, and Shane’s eyes crinkle with his ever-widening smile, “It’s a precaution in case I like, octopus you or something.”

Shane is _beaming_.

“Protecting me from your cuddles, Ryan?”

“Don’t say it like _that_.” Ryan sighs as Shane begins to giggle, and he pushes himself up off the bed, going in search of his own toiletry bag. He goes into the bathroom, silently brushes his teeth and washes his face so as not to alert Shane to how un-soundproof the room actually is.

Shane is already in bed when he returns, the extra pillows shoved behind his head as he scrolls idly through his phone. Ryan walks over to their tripod, checks the camera battery and the framing, and sets it to record for the night.

“People who have stayed in this room say they hear footsteps walking around during the night, right over there by the couch,” he says to Shane, who already knows all of this but nods anyway for the sake of the camera. “Some even felt like there was someone standing next to the bed while they slept, looking down at them but not moving.”

“And are those noises supposed to be the axe guy or the victims?” Shane asks mildly, as Ryan climbed into the bed next to him.

“Think that’s a question for the spirit-box, pal,” Ryan says, and Shane just groans, slinking down further under the covers. The noise surprises Ryan, and he fights back his smile. “I’m kidding. No more spirit-box tonight.”

“I hate that fuckin’ box, Ryan,” Shane says, the covers pooling up around his neck and chin as he sinks lower. He’s squinting a little, his glasses on the nightstand, and Ryan has to resist the urge to touch Shane’s hair, to drag his fingers through it and touch the prickly edge of his cheek.

“I know,” he says, sounding gleeful to his own ears. He lies down, and without the pillows between them Shane seems so much _closer_. Ryan can feel the heat of his shoulder, just inches away. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand to turn out the light.

It takes all of five minutes for Ryan to start feeling spooked, which isn’t new. Shane’s breathing evens out quickly beside him, slipping into gentle snores that comfort Ryan more than he’s willing to admit. Still, for the better part of four hours, every slight creak or groan of the cabin settling around them sets him on edge.

He’s finally drifting off near 5am when Shane turns over on his side to face Ryan, and his hand lands to rest so gently on the edge of Ryan’s hip. The tips of his fingers are warm and smooth, sliding in just beneath the hem of Ryan’s shirt.

He wakes after the sun rises, with Shane’s hand fully spread across his stomach, his pinky finger mere inches away from the bulge of Ryan’s dick, half hard and starting to strain against his sweatpants. For one sleep-addled moment, he thinks about arching up into the touch, rolling over to face Shane, to drape a leg across his knees.

Then his brain kicks into gear, and he reaches down to place his hand over Shane’s, squeezing gently. They have work to do.

“Hey man,” he says, and Shane lifts his head off the pillow, bleary-eyed, croaking out a soft ‘ _huh_ ’ and taking in Ryan’s hazy outline.

“We should probably film a morning outro where you’re not feeling me up under the covers.”

Shane snorts and dunks his face into the pillow, his voice sleep-heavy when he says, “You were the one who nixed the pillow fort.”

.

They wrap up their morning shoot as soon as possible and head back to their hotel across town. Shane drives, letting Ryan doze in the passenger seat for the scant half hour it takes for them to get there. Ryan doesn’t really sleep, but spends a lot of the drive watching Shane’s big, red-knuckled hands on the wheel, looking at his fingers, his neat fingernails, thinking about the weight of that hand on his stomach that morning. He’ll get off thinking about it, later, when he’s alone.

They eat breakfast with TJ and Devon at the hotel, giggling about their various antics from the night before. Shane pushes back from the table early, mumbling something about a shower and a nap before they catch their evening flight back to LA. Ryan spends a long time nursing a cup of tea, listening to Teej and Devon chatting, and calming his nerves.

Over the course of the night he’d had a few scares, the feeling of someone touching his leg above the blankets, the creak of a floorboard by the couch. Of course nothing would show up in the footage, nothing ever did, but the videos never did much to assuage his fears.

He’s drifting off in his chair at the table when Devon shakes his arm gently, tilting her head at him.

“Why don’t you go take a nap too? We were just gonna hit some stores down the street before we packed to leave.”

Ryan sighs loudly. “Yeah, yeah that’s probably a good idea.”

When he finally gets up to his and Shane’s room, he opens the door as quietly as possible, in case Shane is already asleep. It’s not unusual for Ryan to return to their shared room to find Shane already sprawled out over his own bed.

However, the room is empty when Ryan steps inside. The door to the bathroom is ajar, and he can hear the water running. Ryan sucks in a breath to call out, warn Shane that he’s there, when Shane makes a noise that causes the sound to die in Ryan’s throat.

Ryan’s integrity is really at its last thread here. He’s running on fumes, he’s barely keeping it together, and Shane is jerking off in the shower with the door open. There’s not a lot stopping Ryan from walking in there, climbing in the shower with him, and finishing Shane himself. Not a _lot_ stopping him, but _something_ is. Ryan’s living in a strange middle ground where the conversation he overheard between Shane and Sara the night before left everything and nothing to interpretation. He both knows exactly what they were talking about, and nothing whatsoever. Schrödinger's threesome.

He stands next to the door of the bathroom, which seems to be a Thing he does lately, and listens.

A deep, shuddering breath echoes over the bathroom tiles, and Ryan nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Sara’s tinny voice.

“Turn around so I can see you, yeah?” she says, but it sounds like she’s on loudspeaker, or maybe Facetime or Skype. If she wants to _see_ Shane, there must be some sort of video happening.

“This okay?” Shane asks, quietly, after some sounds like he’s moving his phone on the countertop.

“Mmm yes, hello legs,” Sara chuckles, and she sounds sleepy. It’s still early morning back in LA. Shane laughs too, but it’s soft, almost bashful. “Well go on then,” Sara chirps, “Give me a show, handsome.”

“You’re the worst,” Shane says, but his voice is tight like he already has his hand on himself again, and if Ryan holds his breath he can hear the noise of it.

“No I’m not,” Sara says, and Shane hums in agreement, “That’s it, nice and slow now. Tell me about your trip.”

“Now?” Shane asks, strained.

“Yeah,” Sara’s voice is light, airy like she isn’t watching her partner jerking off in a hotel bathroom. Ryan maybe wonders if he’s misinterpreting, but it’s hard to mistake those sounds as anything but Shane touching himself in the shower. “What happened last night after we talked?”

Shane huffs out a breath, sounding frustrated when he says, “Nothing, we got into bed. We went to sleep.”

“And you slept on opposite sides of the bed for the whole night?” Sara’s tone is knowing, and Ryan can even picture the smirk twisting her lips.

“No,” Shane says softly. “No, we. I spooned him, for a bit. I—” his breath hitches, “I put my hand under his shirt, on his skin, just under the navel.”

“Love that spot,” Sara replies. “Soft. You love when I nibble there.”

Shane groans, and Ryan has to stifle his own in response, pressing his fingers to his mouth.

“He was hard, this morning. We— we both were. And my hand was so close, I could have… could have touched him.”

Ryan can feel it still, like a fresh imprint on his skin. The heat of Shane’s chest and belly at his back, the weight of his hand on Ryan’s stomach. They hadn’t parted right away after waking, just cuddling for a few minutes, lingering. For a while, Ryan had forgotten where they were. He hadn’t even been scared.

“Did he pull away?”

No,” Shane sounds all caught up again, the syllable sticking in his throat. “He stayed, and I wanted him so much I thought I would fucking die if he pushed my hand away.”

It feels like a punch to the gut, the desperation in Shane’s voice.

“What did _you_ want to do?” Sara asks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shane hisses, “I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

“You _know_ what I— fuck, Sara,” Shane’s breathing harder, Ryan’s not breathing at all, his cheek pressed to the doorjamb. One step and he’d be there in the room with them. “I wanted to make him come. I wanted him to feel good, and I wanted to be the one doing it.”

Ryan puts a hand on his dick through his jeans, squeezes, thinks about Shane’s hand this morning, the heat, the soft light filtering in, Shane’s breath on his ear when he’d laughed at Ryan’s yawns.

“I think he would have let you,” Sara says, and the sound of agreement is right there on the tip of Ryan’s tongue. He wants to go in there, wants to get on his knees right in that damn shower and put his mouth on Shane. Let Sara watch him suck her boyfriend off on the other side of the country. He’d promise to treat her just as good when they get back tonight.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Shane says again, brokenly, and Sara makes a pleased noise watching him. There’s a stretch of silence that’s maybe eleven seconds long, but it feels like an eternity when Ryan thinks of Shane standing there under the water, coming over his own fist. The water shuts off, and Ryan can hear Shane panting noisily.

“That was a strong one, huh,” Sara says, sounding amused. “Feel better?”

The sound Shane lets out in response is rather unintelligible.

Ryan manages to take a step back towards the room’s exit, and in a moment of pure brilliance, audibly opens and closes the door to the room, as though he’s just walking in.

Inside the bathroom, Shane calls, ‘Ryan?”

“It’s me,” Ryan replies, his voice more of a croak than he would have liked. “Thought you’d be napping by now.”

Shane pulls the bathroom door open, standing there in his towel, wet hair pushed back and skin flushed all the way down to his belly. Ryan’s hard, and if it’s obvious he doesn’t care. Shane seems very determined to keep his eyes on Ryan’s face however, and holds out his phone in Ryan’s direction.

“Talk to her while I put on some sweatpants, please,” Shane says, thrusting his phone at Ryan, who takes it because he has no other choice really. When he looks down at the screen, Sara's face is beaming up at him, and it's hard not to catch her infectious grin. She's in her and Shane's bed, sunken into the pillows, curly hair loose and framing her head like a dark halo. She looks sleepy and beautiful and Ryan wonders if she was getting off with Shane too.

“Hey Sara,” he smiles, sinking back onto his bed and laying down, mirroring her position. “What're you up to?”

“Just woke up,” Sara says, wriggling under the covers a little. Ryan doesn't think she's wearing anything, can see the tips of her collarbones and a bare shoulder just above the bed sheets. “I wanted to see my boys, ask how your night went.”

Ryan feels his cheeks get hot, hearing her say _‘my boys’_ . To be included makes his heart flutter _and_ his cock twitch. He’s her boy.

“It was terrible.” he says automatically, and then stops himself. Sara knows. Sara knows that Ryan woke with Shane holding him. Sara knows the way Shane lingered, snuffling against the back of Ryan's neck, Ryan's cold toes pressing against Shane's shin.

Well. She might not know _that much,_ exactly _._ But Ryan knows what Shane's told her, so he backtracks, letting his face go soft and fond.

“Y’know it wasn't actually awful, I'm lying,” he says, and Sara laughs openly, and the bed sheet slides down her shoulders a little. She's definitely not wearing a shirt. Ryan can see his own face in the corner of the screen, knows he looks dumbstruck. He doesn't care. “It was kind of nice this morning.” Ryan clears his throat, “The cottage I mean.”

Shane appears in the bathroom door again and leans up against the frame, sliding his glasses up his nose, toweling his hair dry. Shane climbs onto the bed right next to Ryan, lays down on the pillow, and tucks his head close to see the screen.

Obi has jumped onto the bed next Sara, and she laughs as she lifts the covers for him to crawl under. Ryan sees the curve of her breast and the dark pink peak of a nipple, and automatically turns to look at Shane, as if to apologize.

Shane isn't even pretending to look at the phone, his eyes on Ryan from just inches away. His eyelashes are still wet, Ryan notes, clumping together prettily, his eyes looking even bigger and brighter than usual. Ryan licks his lips, and Shane watches, looking unashamedly at Ryan's mouth. Shane's hand rests on Ryan's stomach, the touch so light and gentle that Ryan immediately reaches out to press his palm over Shane's fingers and hold him there tighter.

Even if this is just a one-time thing, even if they never talk about it again, Ryan wants it so bad he can barely breathe.

He _needs_ it.

“Hey,” he says, and Shane’s eyes flick up again to meet his, and Ryan smiles before looking back at Sara, her eyes wide and dark and inviting. “You guys wanna do something tonight?”

 

### [interlude]

When they get back to LA, Shane climbs into Ryan’s car in the parking lot and says, “My place or yours?” with an absolutely shit-eating grin. As if Ryan’s spent more than two consecutive nights at his own house since January. Ryan doesn’t respond because they both know his answer, he just smiles to himself and checks his mirrors before pulling out of the parking lot.

The drive to Shane’s is pretty much the same as always at first, except Ryan has this tight knot of anticipation in his stomach — and for what? They never explicitly said anything was going to happen, and sure, the circumstances surrounding Ryan’s proposition certainly _implied_ something, but what if he was just… reading too deeply into something that wasn’t even there.

Shane reaches over the console, places his hand gently over Ryan’s at the bottom of the wheel, thumb brushing his knuckles but careful not to move the steering wheel.

“Relax, Ryan. You can just drop me off if you want, you don’t have to. You don’t have to come inside.”

“I want to,” Ryan says, quickly, and then forces himself to relax and loosen his grip on the wheel, color flooding back into his knuckles. “Sorry. I guess I’m still amped up from last night.”

_I’m still thinking about how— how I almost._

“Sara said she ordered in food, it should be there when we get in,” Shane says, and Ryan knows he means _we’ll work up to it. We don’t have to jump right in._ “Have some beers, watch a movie. Usual stuff.”

Ryan nods silently, keeping his eyes on the road. His heart rate slows minutely, enough that he doesn’t hear it rushing in his ears anymore.

“You, uh,” Shane starts, and then takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly, “You like movie nights, right? With us? I know it’s become kind of a habit, and you don’t like breaking habits. But if it makes you feel weird, we can stop.”

Ryan looks at Shane out of the corner of his eye, and Shane looks timid for the first time maybe _ever_. He’s so tall and strange that he doesn’t really compare to anyone else, has a sense of confidence that Ryan can only put down to him being a Tall White Man. Now, in the passenger seat, he looks almost _scared_.

“I literally invited myself over tonight, Shane,” he says, pointedly.

“You’re always welcome to,” Shane says automatically. “Always.”

“I know,” Ryan breathes, knowing he has something to say, and he has to say it now. “I— I’m going to be really honest right now. It might get weird.”

“Okay,” Shane says softly, hunched over in his seat a little.

“I think you’ve noticed that I’ve been alone for a while now. Over a year,” Ryan says, and then pushes his glasses up his nose a little, sniffs. He can feel something catching in his throat, tight and hot, but he doesn’t want to fucking cry while driving. “I think you’ve also noticed I haven’t really tried to combat that, I haven’t been dating.”

“It’s ok to have time to yourself,” Shane says, and Ryan shakes his head.

“It was… very lonely at first. Moving in with the guys was nice, living in a house with other people but still having my own room, my own space. The thing that was missing was the physical intimacy, you know?”

“Yeah,” Shane rasps, and it’s all Ryan can do to keep his eyes on the road, not to look at Shane.

“So, you. You and Sara.” Ryan swallows hard and takes a few moments to formulate the words. “When you guys started… pulling me closer? Is that— I felt like that’s what you were doing?”

Shane nods, so Ryan keeps talking.

“You guys were that intimacy for me.”

Shane puts his hand on Ryan’s knee, and somehow Ryan doesn’t just steer off the road.

“I think Sara would really like to be part of this conversation,” Shane says, and Ryan just nods in agreement. His throat feels tight and scratchy. He hadn’t realized he’d feel _this much_ when everything came to a head.

Shane keeps his hand on Ryan’s leg all the way home, both of them silent, Ryan breathing deep and slow and Shane rubbing the pad of his thumb repeatedly against the outer seam of Ryan’s jeans. It’s comforting in a way he needs now, has needed for so long.

Sara greets them at the door of the complex and Ryan can smell the food she’d ordered (Italian, maybe?).

“There they are,” she smiles when she sees them, “My boys. Kill any ghouls?”

“Oh tons,” Shane says, breezily, the way he does when he’s humoring Ryan about all things supernatural. “Stomped ‘em, squished ‘em. All the things. Where’s my kiss?”

Shane bends down, Sara still having to stand on her toes to reach him, and Ryan really gets why he rarely sees them kiss when they’re standing like this. Even _he_ would have to bend to meet Sara’s lips, stretch to reach Shane, and that thought kind of boggles his mind.

When they part, Sara turns to him and smiles, placing her hand on his cheek. Ryan stoops a little to let her kiss his cheek, something she’s been doing more lately, something he welcomes even while he’s still reeling from Shane’s casual touches in the car.

“I got that Penne All'Arrabbiata you like from Giovanna’s,” she says, and then looks at Shane, “I got you the chicken thing.”

“I _love_ you,” Shane says emphatically, shrugging out of his jacket and leaving his shoes on the rack. “I’m just gonna leave my bag in the bedroom. Ryan, you want me to take your bag?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says, as Shane is pulling the duffel from his shoulder and slinging it over his shoulder. Even though Ryan never leaves his stuff in Shane and Sara’s bedroom. Even though he rarely sets foot in there.

Back in the kitchen, Sara is dishing out the food out of their takeout containers and onto plates. She’s wearing that striped dress again, the one that has Ryan thinking about his bathroom sink any time he sees her in it. It clings to her gentle curves and flares in the right places, somehow sweet and sexy at the same time. She’s barefoot on the kitchen tile, and Ryan absently nudges his toes against her ankle, getting her attention.

“Thanks for grabbing food. I didn’t even think about that.”

“ _Someone_ has to feed you boys something other than Taco Bell,” she smirks at him as she’s plating what looks like chicken piccata.

“I felt really sick on my way over here. I thought it was weird anxiety but I definitely now think I was just hungry.”

“Anxiety?” Sara looks concerned, her shapely mouth pulling down into a frown.

“Yeah, uh,” Ryan sighs and stares down at his socked feet next to her brightly painted toes on the tile. She’s so dainty. “Shane and I had this talk. I said some stuff out loud for the first time and then we decided you should probably be there for it too. So yeah. I think we’re having a big discussion with this dinner.”

Sara’s face softens, almost crumples, as she looks at him, “I’m getting the distinct vibe we fucked up. I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“No, _no_ ,” Ryan feels like there’s sand slipping through his fingers. “Please, that’s not— Shane should be here for this. Why do I keep trying to start this with only one of you here?” He laughs. “I need you both here.”

Shane appears in the doorway behind Sara, his face like an open book, hopeful and tired. They’re both looking at him like he’s said something _wondrous_ , so he combs back through his words, and suddenly—

There it is.

“I need you both.”

Shane beams at him.

“Okay,” he says. “Finally.”

.

Ryan learns a lot in the space of thirty minutes.

They eat dinner together in the living area, Sara and Ryan sitting on the couch, and Shane on the floor using the coffee table. Sara uncorks a bottle of red wine, and it takes everyone a few sips before the words start to come together.

“You came over one morning,” Sara begins, placing her empty plate down on the coffee table. Shane is still eating slowly, watching from his spot on the floor. His lips are stained from the wine. “We were having sex, and you walked into the apartment. We weren’t sure if you’d heard, but we didn’t stop. Even now, I can’t understand why we didn’t stop, because it would have been the polite thing to do.”

“The thought that you were there,” Shane says, and his voice is tight, a little controlled. “That you might hear, or might walk it. I think we wanted that.”

The first time wasn’t intentional, Ryan knew that much.

“So at my birthday party—” he begins, and Sara sighs and rubs her nose. She looks guilty, and Ryan feels it in his gut.

“We were just, kind of tipsy. The thought of being in your space, that you might come in and see us? That was, uh, the driving force there,” she says.

“Kind of hoped you would join us,” Shane admits, and he’s pushing food around on his plate, also guiltily.

“When you just stood there and watched, we figured that was your thing,” Sara says, “So we called you on New Years, thought you might like to listen.”

“But you hung up,” Shane finishes.

“I thought it was an accident,” Ryan says, and swirls his glass of wine. Usually, right about now is when he’d start slamming down whatever drink he had in hand, pour another, taking the fastest possible route to tipsy and then drunk. But something told him he needed to stay clear-headed, especially now with so much on the line. “I thought it was a butt-dial.”

“Closer to booty-call, actually,” Sara says. There’s a beat of silence, and then Shane starts to chuckle. He’s quiet at first, his shoulders trembling and his head ducked down, and if Ryan were anyone else, if he didn’t know Shane the way he did, he could have mistaken it for crying. Then he starts to giggle, too, biting down on his lip to trap the sounds.

“Oh, a fucking booty call from Illinois, thanks guys,” he says, his voice taking on a lilting sarcastic edge. Sara finally starts to laugh as she meets Ryan’s eyes, sees his barely concealed laughter. Shane’s lying on the floor, wiping the tears from his eyes, Sara clutching a throw pillow to her stomach. Ryan loves them both terribly.

“Okay, so, after that?” he asks, when they’re all starting to calm down.

Sara looks wistful. “We were trying to be more… romantic I guess? Having dinner together, having you stay over.”

“We’re not usually so bad at asking for what we want,” Shane says. “We just kept trying to tempt you without outright saying anything.”

“Like some kind of fucked up courtship,” Sara says, starting to frown again. Ryan hates that, reaches out to brush his knuckle against her cheek. She pulls in a startled breath at the touch, her lips pursing as her eyes meet Ryan’s. “We didn’t know what you wanted, or even how to ask. It was like just, feeling around in the dark for the light switch but knocking over everything in your path on the way.”

Then there’s silence again, maybe twenty whole seconds if Ryan trusts his ability to keep time.

“I guess we owe you an apology, Ryan,” Shane says.

Ryan, immediately, starts shaking his head.

“I knew,” he says, and suddenly both Sara and Shane are the picture of confusion. “Since before Valentine’s day. I was picking up on all the vibes. Sara was kissing me more and more. Shane, you were touching me more than you ever had, just putting your huge fuckin’ hands everywhere. I knew that— I knew I couldn’t just give you one night, and I just. I just kept lapping up the attention. And I kept laying on this couch and listening to you fuck in the next room. Because I’m terrible, and I was having feelings, so.”

The confusion stretches on. Sara’s face is very still, and Shane pushes himself back into a sitting position.

“One night?” He asks, brow furrowed, and Ryan shrugs a shoulder at him for lack of a response. Shane huffs out a laugh. “You think we’ve been chasing you for the last six months because we just want _one night_?”

Ryan gives in and drains the last of the wine from his glass. “Not when you say it like that,” he gasps, setting the empty glass down on the table.

“We were—” Shane huffs out a laugh. “We were _all_ having feelings, Ryan.”

Ryan nods his head a little. He’s starting to see the big picture, can see it in the way both Shane and Sara and watching him now, their faces full of adoration. For _him_.

“Will someone please kiss me now, or...” Ryan trails off, gaze flickering between his two friends, the two people he loves most on this earth. Shane gets to his feet immediately, surprisingly fast considering the amount of leg he has to maneuver, and Sara moves her plate and Ryan’s aside in one swift motion. Sara and Shane look at one another, and Sara gives a very tiny nod, _go on_ , so Ryan stands up to meet Shane midway.

Having never kissed Shane before, Ryan is surprised by how natural it feels. Shane’s hands cup his face, and Ryan feels like he’s being swallowed up by his presence. Shane has always felt big next to him, but now that feeling comes with a gentle tug of arousal in the pit of his stomach. Ryan puts his hands on Shane’s waist and slides them up to his back, reeling him in slow until they’re chest to chest, and he’s not even thinking about how soft Shane’s mouth is, just that he can feel his heart hammering through his chest.

When Shane pulls away, Ryan gets the feeling that it’s not because he wants to, but because Sara is waiting so patiently for her turn. Shane lets one of his hands drop and reaches for her, and so Ryan does the same, inviting her into the circle of their arms. It all feels a bit cliche, Ryan thinks, if loving two people like this could be cliche. Shane has one hand on the nape of Ryan’s neck and the other in Sara’s hair when she stretches up on her toes to press her lips to Ryan’s, a happy hum leaving her throat as Ryan’s arm curls around her waist and pulls her in even tighter. This is what he’s been waiting for.

“So,” Ryan sounds breathless to is own ears, “You guys wanna date or something?”

 

### +1

It is very much like waking in bed with Shane that morning at the cabin, no pillows between them, a warm hand on his belly. The difference is, this time Sara’s pressed up against his front, curling into his chest.

They bask, for a while, and Ryan luxuriates in the heat of two bodies around him, holding him, feeling their warmth soaking into his bones. Sara has to climb out of the bed eventually, dropping a little kiss on each of the boys’ foreheads before walking out of the room in the t-shirt and panties she’d slept in.

“She’s making coffee,” Shane answers to Ryan’s questioning noise as he watches her go. After a few moments, he can hear her moving around in the kitchen, and he suddenly understands how clearly they would have heard him walking into the apartment that one Sunday in late September.

Ryan turns over into Shane’s arms, resting his cheek on Shane’s shoulder, an arm slung over his waist and the other tucked up against his chest. Their legs slot together easily, Ryan’s toes pressing into Shane’s calves. It’s all far more domestic that Ryan had expected, and he starts to feel a little anxious as Shane presses his nose, and then his lips, to Ryan’s temple.

“Does your heart always race like that when you wake up?” Shane asks, voice barely more than a whisper. Ryan shakes his head and lets out a little sigh, pulling back.

“I’m just a big ol’ ball of nerves, that’s all,” he said. Shane rubs his back gently, and Ryan just about melts into the touch.

“About this?” Shane asks.

Ryan shakes his head very slightly, and the urge to kiss Shane’s neck, just inches from his lips, is almost overwhelming. _You’re allowed to do that now_ , he reminds himself, and does it.

“I want a lot from this,” Ryan admits, and presses another gentle kiss against Shane’s throat. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Don’t have to do it all right now,” Shane replies, and he’s still rubbing Ryan’s back but his hands have slipped lower, settling in the small of Ryan’s back, just above the waistband of the underwear he’d slept in. He realizes they’re sort of grinding, lazily, just feeding slowly into the slow-burn of arousal gathering in Ryan’s belly. Shane puts a little more pressure on his lower back, drawing him in for just a little more friction, and Ryan groans, the sound smothered into Shane’s neck.

“Well that’s a sight for sore eyes,” Sara chirps from the doorway, and her voice is still a little hoarse from sleep. She’s holding a steaming mug, bathed in golden sunlight, and Ryan thinks he might be the luckiest fucking man on earth if he gets to have both Shane and Sara wanting him the way he wants them. “Would you boys like some coffee now or should I put this on the warmer?”

“Forget the coffee, get in here,” Shane says, his voice soft but something authoritative in it. Sara leaves the mug on the dresser. Shane moves him around, and Ryan goes easily until he’s sitting with his back to Shane’s chest, both of them upright against the head of the bed, and Sara waiting patiently to straddle Ryan’s lap.

Ryan’s suddenly confronted by all the things he knows to be true, things he’s witnessed — that Shane loves to give head, and that he’s good at it. That they both love to get a little rough. That Sara likes to talk Shane through his orgasm. Ryan’s eager to find out where he fits in.

Shane’s hands peel Ryan’s shirt off and toss it aside, warms palms coming up and cupping over his chest, holding a pec firmly in each hand.

“This one of the things you want?” Shane asks, lips next to Ryan’s ear, and Ryan lets his head fall back as Sara goes straight for the jugular, sucking and nipping at his neck.

“Fuck yes,” Ryan croaks, and slides his own hands down Sara’s hips to her ass, dragging her in to rub up against her, and then rolling back against Shane in turn. They both moan, and Sara leans in over Ryan’s shoulder to kiss Shane; the sound of them right next to his ear makes the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up in the best way.

Shane slides a hand down Ryan’s chest, over his taut stomach and down to the thick bulge stretching the cotton of Ryan’s underwear. He curls his fingers around the hard line of Ryan’s cock, letting Sara grind against the back of his hand, and she breaks the kiss to swear loudly.

“ _Fuck_ , we need to— fewer clothes, please,” she says, and then Ryan watches as she lifts her t-shirt over her head, breasts bouncing as she throws it aside to join Ryan’s shirt on the floor. Ryan’s struck by how _small_ she is, her narrow waist and legs, then the outward flair of her hips. Ryan can feel Shane moving behind him, getting out of the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in, but Ryan’s too entranced to pay attention to much more than what’s happening in front of him. Sara shimmies out of her panties, and Ryan grazes his fingertips against her inner thigh, almost gulping when she gives pause to look down at him.

“You wanna fuck me?”

“Love to,” Ryan says, voice high and tight with surprise. Behind him, Shane reaches over to the nightstands and rattles around in there for a moment, coming back to pass a condom over to Sara, who quickly kisses him in thanks.

“May I?” she asks, and Ryan leans back into Shane’s chest happily, nodding. Sara rolls the condom down over him with practiced ease, and then just as easily climbs into his lap and sinks down onto his cock. Ryan bites his lip, muffling his groan as her heat envelops him. It’s been a while since he’s fucked anyone, and there’s nothing else in the world that feels like that first slide inside, that first connection.

Shane’s quiet behind him, but Ryan can feel just how hard he is, the way he presses up against the small of Ryan’s back. He lowers his hand down to circle around the base of Ryan’s cock, holding him there while Sara rides him slow and steady, gently squeezing.

Ryan has one hand on Sara’s waist, the other gripping Shane’s thigh — Shane kisses his neck and Ryan has to twist around to press their mouths together, groaning as Sara speeds up, rides him harder. She’s moving her hips in short, tight circles, trying to grind up against just the right spot. Shane alternates between touching where she’s spread around Ryan, and touching Ryan’s cock very gently, almost reverently.

He’s bucking up into Sara every time she moves, kissing Shane and then kissing Sara, moaning as Shane puts a hand on his jaw and turns Ryan to kiss him again, deeper, dirtier. Ryan tries his best to give back to Shane too, the small of his back feels sticky, with Shane so hard that he’s just getting wetter as he rubs off on Ryan.

It’s almost overwhelming, more hands than Ryan is used to, more mouths, more— just more. He wonders if it will always feel like this, like almost too much.

Sara’s so very close to coming, he can tell by the way her thighs shake, how she’s fucking herself down on him with real determination.

“Already?” Shane asks her, a hint of a smile in his voice. Ryan’s almost there too and it seems too fast, but they’ve been building up to this for a long time, he supposes.

“Ryan, you feel so good,” Sara murmurs, clenching, and Shane’s fingers are already on her clit but Ryan wants to get in there too, or just wants to put his hands on her anywhere, really. He touches her breasts instead, smiling when she pushes into his hands, moaning.

“I’m there too,” he says, and Sara seems to shake, bowing over into his shoulder. Ryan thinks for a moment she’s leaning in to kiss Shane again, and then feels the slide of teeth against his shoulder, and her muffled cry, the flutter of her walls around his cock as she starts to come. He’s powerless but to follow, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in tight as he lets go, buried in her to the hilt.

It takes Sara a moment but, when she catches her breath, she carefully dismounts and falls to the side, stretching out on the sheets. Her thighs are shaking from the strain of riding, from coming so fast and so hard. Ryan barely registers a sting in his shoulder where she must have bitten or scraped him.

Ryan also takes a few breaths to come back to himself as he reclines against Shane’s chest — and then he really needs to get rid of the condom, so he does that. Ryan turns around to see Shane stretching out, still naked and hard but looking content to stroke himself lazily.

“That was incredibly hot,” Shane says. “You two…”

Ryan stands at the edge of the bed, his knee resting on the mattress, drags his fingertips along Shane’s thigh.

“Mind if I help you out there?”

Shane raises an eyebrow at him, licks his lower lip. His glasses are a little askew, his bed-head only made worse from their play

“What’re you thinking about, Ryan?” Sara asks, sleepily resting her cheek against Shane’s arm closest to her.

“Just, wanna get Shane off,” he says, and then looks at Shane again. “You want me to?”

Shane nods, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah. Yeah, please, Ryan.”

Ryan kneels between Shane’s legs, already knows what he wants to do, but he’ll ask anyway.

“What do you want?”

Shane sucks in a breath through his teeth, squeezes his dick before sinking back into the pillows, hands behind his head.

“Your mouth?” he asks. Shane’s own lips are a little red, likely from Ryan’s stubble and Sara’s biting. Ryan wonders if his mouth looks the same, as he gives Shane a little closed-lipped smile.

“I was hoping you’d ask for that,” he says, and gets down onto his elbows to be closer to Shane’s cock. Ryan’s not exactly a dick-sucking champion. He’s done it a few times before, but he knows how to make it good. He knows guys like to watch his lips, see his cheeks hollow in, see his eyes get big and dark. He looks up at Shane and sees that same hunger in his eyes, and it sends a prickling thrill down Ryan’s spine.

Shane is… longer than Ryan is used to. He wraps his fingers around the base and strokes gently, drags his tongue up the rest of the shaft to the head, and grins when he hears Shane’s weak moan, a noise that sounds unintentional, as though it escaped without permission. He lets the head drag against his lower lip for a moment, and then takes pity on Shane, loath to tease him any further. Ryan takes him into his mouth, and Shane makes the most delicious noise Ryan’s ever heard.

“Look at him, Shane,” Sara says, almost chastising, but too soft to carry any real reprimand.

“Can’t,” Shane says, tightly, “Too close.”

Ryan looks up to see Shane’s head tipped back, eyes closed and mouth slack. Sara’s watching him closely, however, eyes peering over the slight curve of Shane’s bicep.

“He likes that,” Sara says, and Ryan’s not sure who she’s talking to. Shane _obviously_ likes having his dick sucked. Ryan — well. Ryan’s enjoying it too. Ryan hums a little, both in enjoyment and agreement with Sara, and Shane sucks in a sharp gasp, lifting his head to look down at Ryan.

Of all the times Ryan’s ever found himself looking up at Shane, this might be his favorite yet.

Shane reaches down to touch Ryan’s jaw, rubbing upwards through the grain of stubble, and Ryan tilts into the touch, sure that Shane can feel the head of his dick through Ryan’s cheek. Ryan holds that eye contact as he sinks down as far as he can — he has a gag reflex, but it’s not particularly strong. He can almost take the whole thing. Shane’s eyelids flutter, and he says “Oh shit, Ryan, I’m—”

Ryan, despite better judgement, lets Shane come in his mouth. He doesn’t swallow — not all of it, at least — instead letting it drip down, getting Shane even wetter and messier as Ryan sucks him through his orgasm. Sara’s smiling at him, her head pillowed on Shane’s shoulder.

Shane’s breathing hard when he says, “You know, you get to a certain age and orgasms really take it out of you.”

Sara and Ryan exchange a glance, and Sara stifles a laugh into Shane’s neck before smacking a loud kiss there.

“ _Okay_ , old man,” Ryan says, wiping his mouth as he drops down on Shane’s other side and throws a leg over Shane’s thigh. They’re all very naked, and Ryan’s never felt more comfortable in his life.

Sara gets up again, potters around into the bathroom and then the kitchen. Shane cuddles into Ryan for a few more minutes before he has to drag himself away for a shower, still tacky with come. Ryan knows he should follow, but he’s far to content to laze in Sara and Shane’s bed. He feels as though he could stay there for the remainder of his life.

It’s still early. They’ve still got the rest of the day, and some time after that too.

**Author's Note:**

> fie!! you just posted a new fic two days ago what are you doing??? first of all i assure y'all that this is an anomaly 2) i'm a dumbass and 3) this has been sitting in my drafts for like. four months. and i finally got the urge to finish it. this is hot off the press. thank you for reading if you got this far <3


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